


Two Natures

by Colerate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Hijacking, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-09-07 10:04:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colerate/pseuds/Colerate
Summary: Hadrian Peverell is insane. Until he is not.Tom hadn't given much thought to the boy. Until he did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read a lot of time travel HP fics. So here's a time travel. Of sorts.

"Barmy"

"Absolutely insane, that boy"

"Not right in the head"

Hadrian Peverell. He'd caused quite the stir when he resurfaced at age eleven. Because one, he was the sole heir to the thought to be extinct Peverell line and two, he was mental.

Tom never gave him much thought beyond that, the boy was socially awkward and a Hufflepuff to boot. He had the notes, as he had with everyone who initially piqued his interest, and knew the bare bones. Half-blood, dead parents and pitifully average academics with the exception of defence. Merrythought loved that boy, like one would love a particularly unfortunate kitten or puppy. Useless where it counts but at least he tries - _Snuffles finally went on a walk without a leash today! Isn't he clever?_

Thus Hadrian Peverell was ultimately unimportant in the grand scheme of things, a speck on the elegant canvas painting that was Tom's future. He had bigger objectives to worry about, like amassing a dedicated following and learning beyond the Hogwarts curriculum, than sob stories with identity issues. 

He was _Dumbledore's_ charity case anyway. 

At least, that was how it stood up until Christmas during fourth year. Over the short holiday, the little Peverell boy had vanished. And, if the rumour mill were to be believed, Dumbledore had requested and sanctioned indefinite leave, starting two days from now.

"Occlumency" Leander Lestrange proclaimed, proud like a cat presenting its owner with a dead mouse. "He is an occlumens" Interesting, but not entirely useful without further backing. 

In light of recent events, Tom had called a meeting of sorts in the common room, searching for information on a topic almost everyone was intrigued by on some level. Gossip has been quite mundane lately. 

"He was declared sane over Christmas, presumably before he disappeared" Abraxas Malfoy, of course he would know the pertinent details and _of course_ he would wait twenty minutes before revealing them. Tom would know, timing is very important. 

"Oh?" Understating his curiosity was the best countermeasure, he must avoid conveying too much gratitude lest he feeds Abraxas' ego too much and give way to narcissistic obesity. He'd written the latter part of that rule in his diary.

"Yes, the specifics are confidential however there is talk of him being a rather tragically inclined seer, unable to separate what seems to be a rather horrific future from our arguably peaceful present" Every Slytherin within earshot (it was an open-mic, open-invite event) subtly leant forwards. "I imagine it would be quite... scarring to see that at such a young age"

Edwin Avery scoffed. A few others chuckled. But Tom knew they were only playing a part, Edwin's dear mother wouldn't lay a finger on her son, be that in an act of violence or affection. 

Tom propped his chin on his hand, stretching languidly on the green armchair. He was the centrepiece to a mix-matched circle of chairs, cushions and reappropriated coffee tables. Casting an ambient orange glow on the faces that looked towards him, the fire flickered lazily behind. He was sure he made for quite the imposing figure, even with the older students looking down on him. Theatrics, really, but it was good fun as well as meaningful. 

"Do we know who killed his parents?" It wasn't a question of how they died, more who. "The running theory was that Dumbledore felt guilty for the child's predicament, there must be an ulterior motive to this, after all, the boy is neither a Gryffindor nor any good at transfiguration, but did we receive any confirmation?"

"...No" Abraxas admitted, looking a little off-put by his own lack of knowledge. Understandable, they hadn't really paid much thought to the scrawny bespectacled boy up until a day or so ago. 

"Unfortunately, it looks like we simply have to wait for news of him" Tom conceded, there wasn't much to be done. 

"Perhaps he'll return" Orion Black suggested, an empty bland comment, filler for conversation. But Tom would be a fool to take it at face value, Orion tended to be right with his speculations, as obscure and sporadic as they were.

True to Orion's words, Peverell did in fact return, two weeks later no less. Dragged in by Dumbledore up to the headmasters office, hissing and struggling all the while with a certain ferocity that belonged to only the most desperate of creatures in the worst situations. Or so said the Ravenclaw prefect who was patrolling the right corridor at the right time, who told Crouch who told someone else who told another student and so on before Abraxas inevitably caught onto the end of the chain. 

Tom was practically buzzing with excitement when he walked into his next defence class, try as he might to calm his outward appearance. At present, he was good at emphasising real emotions but still had to work on dampening his true feelings when they were so strong. Despite this, he had yet to truly slip negatively in front of a professor. 

Peverell had returned to classes and fourth-year Slytherins shared Defense with the Hufflepuffs. 

Usually, that was a detriment. Hufflepuffs were hard-working individuals and let it never be said that any Hufflepuff wasn't tenacious. But they lacked the impulse and energy that made the Gryffindors easy to rile up in a duel. Level headed for the most part until you threatened the pack. 

However, it was the fifth period and he'd already heard about Peverell's previous classes. Apparently, he'd suddenly shot up academically, mutterings of his so-called insanity no longer holding him back. It sounded fake and terribly convenient but Tom was ready for the real deal nonetheless.

"Hadrian" Merrythought greeted the boy as he entered, caution apparent in her tone. Whatever had transpired in the headmaster's office had certainly shaken her perception of him. Gone were the patronising smiles and familiar greetings. _He doesn't look any different,_ Tom thought, _he has the same ratty long hair hiding his face and short hunched-_ he wasn't hunched. 

"Just Harry" The boy responded, flicking back his hair only for it to fall back and obscure his face again. With a huff, he tried again, and then once more, before giving up entirely. He seemed taller, an illusion created by a straight spine, and more assured in his gait and general movement. Still clumsy, Tom observed as his hip collided with the first desk he passed. Merrythought looked perplexed, taking a moment to watch on before taking the register. 

The class started out as it normally would, professor Merrythought delving into the theory behind the shield charm and its practical uses: obviously, to shield against spells and less obviously to conjure an almost impregnable barrier when used in combination with _fianto duri_ and _repello inimicum_. A mundanely average lesson up until the practical. 

As expected, Tom had no real issues with performing _protego_ but Peverell was having some kind of mental dispute with himself from the looks of his creased eyebrows and contemplating gaze aimed at his own wand. 

"...Is there a problem, Peverell?" Merrythought had dropped the first name. Peverell didn't respond. "Hadrian?" Again, silence. "Harry?" That got a reaction.

"Oh, uh, yeah? Maybe? I'm not really sure, to be honest with you professor" Peculiar.

"Well, just give it a shot"

If any student's attention hadn't been focused on Peverell, it sure was after he exclaimed "Protego!" and conjured a stark white shield, practically opaque from an outsider's perspective yet barely misted from Peverell's angle. It was a feat that the fourteen-year-old wasn't expected to perform so well, his previous inclination towards the subject notwithstanding. 

Tom thought it was _brilliant_.

"Well done, Mr Peverell" Merrythought was downplaying her shock but her facial expression betrayed her. "Ten points to Hufflepuff". Peverell beamed. 

"There's no way!" Edwin exclaimed once they returned to the common room, safe from the prying eyes and ears of the other houses searching for a chink in their unified front of control. "He was good, but he wasn't that good"

"Didn't he used to hate it when people shortened his name?" Leander mused, plopping down onto a sofa and taking up the length of it. "The puffs were quick to round up on anyone who used it and I swear I'd never seen him closer to crying than in those moments" 

Rowan Mulciber crept over, unnervingly silent, and propped his crossed arms on the back of Leander's sofa. "Peverell doesn't cry, he mopes" Poor Leander hadn't noticed the hulking fifth-year approach and startled at his deep whisper with an aborted cry.  
"Mulciber! You're too damn quiet" Mulciber grinned.

"Whatever happened over Christmas, he's clearly changed. If it weren't for the awful hair and his small stature, I'm not confident I would've have recognised him on sight" Tom mused and his little circle of Slytherins hummed in agreement.

Hadrian "Harry" Peverell was a different sort of teen. Where he had once cowered and hid behind his hair, he flicked it back in vain as though it annoyed him. Where he had once minimised his presence by curling his back, he stood tall and strode with confidence. A little too much confidence given his still intact clumsy nature. Not to mention his sudden rise in spell proficiency. Was insanity really so inhibiting?

Probably, Peverell was a wreak and the whole school knew it. Or at least he used to be.

"He's like a different person" Orion chimed in right by his side, resulting in a small, but undignified all the same, jump from Tom. Similarly to Mulciber, Orion had a habit of quietly approaching but Mulciber did so to get under Leander's skin while Orion simply did because he was Orion, as far as Tom could tell. 

Tom didn't trust Orion. He was all disquietened smiles and false platitudes and he simply knew too much supposedly without anyone telling him anything. Loathe he was to admit it, Orion was a true Slytherin. Except that his ambitions were vague and generally unknown. Leander wanted to take over the family business, Edwin wanted a place high up in the ministry and Tom wanted to change the wizarding world. Orion wanted to start a family. That couldn't be believed. 

"I wonder where he was all this time" Leander drawled lazily, back to stretching out across the couch in spite of Mulciber's presence.

Tom wondered that too. 

But the difference between Tom and Lestrange was that he would act on that wonder rather than proclaim such a statement in lieu of asking a question.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian doesn't do anything outside of the ordinary. Except for everything. 
> 
> That's not enough for Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really didn't expect this chapter to be over 4,000. It just sort of happened.
> 
> I feel like the characterisation falls apart towards the end but imma call it panic and get back to the original Tom I set out at the beginning.
> 
> Thanks for hitting the 100 kudos mark in the first chapter my dudes! That's pretty awesome considering this fic is just a splurge. Glad we share a liking for certain tropes.

Tom admires intelligent people. He really does. He's a strong believer in the idea that if you're the smartest person in a room, you're in the wrong room (it's a muggle saying but that little fact is just between him, a few muggleborns and his diary. To the purebloods, he may as well have coined it). 

Of course, there are levels and layers to "smartness". Everyone has niches, affinities and ineptitudes that can be learnt from or improved upon. So while Tom may consistently hold the top grades of his year, he can still learn from those around him. Like Leander, who's charm is infallible when he plays it up. Or Abraxas and his knack for impactful theatrics. Or Mulciber's quiet intimidation. ~~Or Orion's secrecy.~~

Learning from others was vital to bettering himself. If he's surrounded by dunderheads and berks, how on earth should he know if he's actually clever or just a level above the people in that room?

"Hey, Tom, can you pass the gravy?" Leander asked. Tom did what was requested of him before returning to pseudo-reading his Transfiguration textbook. 

To completely better himself, to be above everyone else, he would need a lot of time. Something he's trying to find a workaround for. Has been since the name "Nicholas Flamel" first graced his ears.

In the meantime, he's got to surround himself with intelligence. Slughorn had the right idea but the wrong method and motive. Powerful people gravitate to the professor not because he himself is a man of greatness but for his connections. It makes him feel special though, even if he's not. 

Tom wants to attract people because of who he is, not because of whom he knows or what he owns. Wizards flock to rich purebloods for their possessions. He could see it now as he spied Abraxas over the cover of his book. The blonde boy was surrounded by others just like him, alongside year mates who may even be older than him yet held less status. The fact that Abraxas even paid attention to Tom from time to time was bizarre. He's neither a pureblood nor rich.

In the future, he's either got to masquerade as a pureblood or become so powerful that blood and materialistic values don't apply to him. He doesn't have the means for option one so he had underlined option two when he had written out the plan in his diary. 

Hadrian's aptitude lay in his magical skill. Clearly top of the year, as he had demonstrated throughout the week. That used to be Tom's place, his own speciality. 

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be angry or motivated by that. 

For one, he'd obviously allowed himself to get too comfortable at the top. He had been the smartest in the room. Not that he had been given much choice since it was school and classes were fixed but still. He needed to strive farther. Study further. 

Secondly, he needed Hadrian. Skill like that was unheard of so young and could definitely be learnt from. He could learn from Tom too. Although he may be Tom's better in schoolwork, he was fairly confident his classmate couldn't top him in other branches, like charisma... or more illegal magic. He was still working on both of those but he doubted Hadrian was the kind to step so far out of line being a Hufflepuff and all. As for charisma, it wasn't hard to tell after spending more than five minutes in his presence that any endearing actions were accidental and certainly cuter than they were charming. A kitten rather than a full grown cat.

Currently, the boy was sat at his yellow and black table with a quill behind his ear, dripping little splatters of ink onto his skin while he looked out of the window.

A cute prodigy who didn't know what he was doing but continued doing it none the less. That was Hadrian Peverell.

Thank God he'd ditched the insanity, Tom needed the competition. Although, not all of his academic feats were that admirable. He was awful at Arithmancy, which they had fifth period.

Tom craned his neck a little to watch the scene playing out behind him. While being at the front had ensured that he was often noticed by the professors when he had queries or answers, it didn't really help his efforts when it came to tracking Hadrian. Currently, the student was being scolded by the confused Professor who couldn't understand how sanity inhibited this particular grade yet every other subject was boosted. Tired of the ache in his neck, Tom turned to his written work and finalised it before slipping out a leather-bound book.

He'd set aside a new page in his diary for this endeavour and ruled off his theories on lunar symbolism (A small fancy really, he had a habit of being sidetracked by footnotes while studying. Magic was just too diverse for him to focus on one topic for so long without cause) and began the next chapter. He'd tried to add a little decoration beyond his usual copy sketches from textbooks (or sometimes just outright ripped images from textbooks he no longer had use for) in the form of an illustration of Hadrian but it went disastrously wrong. So now the page had an inked black circle that ran the length of his pinky, hiding something ugly. Not the best start but perhaps he could draw a rim around it and pass it off as a study of some jewellery? 

"What did your diary do to offend you?" A voice sounded from beside him. In his contemplation, he'd lost track of his surroundings, including his desk partner Leander who had no right to pause in his writing and stick his nose in Tom's business with the measly three sentences on his parchment. 

"It's not a diary" He lied. "and you've spelt 'probability' wrong"

"What- ah shit, I have as well" Leander hastily corrected his work, not that it would do much for such a pitiful excuse for an essay given that class would end in approximately two minutes.

"Well then, class" Make that one minute. "I expect to have a comprehensive couple of inches from all of you on the differences between quantitative and qualitative data, next lesson we'll be moving onto using the theory you've learned so far to predict compatibility" 

"Wonder if I can predict the compatibility between me and Rosier" Leander piped up once he'd rejoined Tom in the corridor, a little behind. The Professor hadn't been too pleased with his work ethic. 

"Wait what? Compatibility? Is that like, a relationship thing?" It never did take Edwin long to find them after class, even if he should have been on the other end of the castle. Tom somewhat admired that, not that he'd ever tell Edwin. Another rule he had written in his diary was to not unnecessarily complement so that when he did it had more impact. Admittedly, the tip had been pinched from a muggle book. He hadn't come across anything on charisma in the school library. 

"Yes, Edwin, it is, but I imagine if you put your name alongside any witch you'd get a big fat zero" That wasn't how compatibility worked at all, Leander clearly hadn't read ahead like Tom. Not that he expected any different. 

As his two friends squabbled, Tom took the opportunity to split from the crowd and head in the direction he'd seen Hadrian go in. During the entire week they'd been sharing classes, the most interesting thing to note was that he had cut his hair and made a right mess of it. Tom really wanted to brush it into place. He also really wanted him to do something a bit more out of the ordinary. Good grades couldn't be everything he had going on after such a dramatic change but he'd yet to find evidence of much else. 

He preferred 'Harry' over 'Hadrian'. He was unusually confident and proficient in all subjects he took aside from Arithmancy. The hufflepuffs didn't know what to do with him so he was more often than not found alone. When he could be found that is, Hadrian had a habit of disappearing. Like now. 

With a huff, Tom turned back around in the direction of the great hall. He swore he saw him headed towards the astronomy tower but apparently not. 

His new diary chapter was annoyingly short.

_-_-_

He came by the next nugget of information two days later in the library. Tom was minding his own business, a book labelled "Mysterios, the Unknown" on the Department of Mysteries propped up by a small stack of books in front of him. It was quite interesting actually, convoluted title aside, to find out that the department did in fact release details on some of their projects after a certain amount of allotted time had passed and the contents were deemed safe for the public eye. Mostly irrelevant to his learning though. The current chapter was on the "Ensnaring Bejewelled Hilt", the hilt of a sword that had been separated from its blade counterpart which trapped the gaze of anyone who spent more than five seconds gazing at the ruby on its blunt end. Rumoured to have been the work of the fabled blacksmith and enchantress "Geraldine Archerhart". He wasn't necessarily gleaning anything useful from his perusal but he did like to read for leisure from time to time.

However, he was pulled from his light reading when a Hufflepuff prefect came bustling in excitedly, one Hadrian Peverell in tow. If he remembered correctly, that was fifth year Penrith Calderon-Boot, an American transfer who came over when Tom was in second year. He should probably go back to the colonies, Grindelwald's spread was closer to Britain than it was America despite the Percival Graves debacle in the twenties. Quite like Hadrian, Penrith preferred the monicker "Penny" which honestly made him sound like he was a dilly boy. Not that a pureblood like him would know what that meant, especially when considering that he was American as well. 

Tom watched, not even bothering with the pretence of pretending to read without the other Slytherins in the immediate vicinity ~~notice me Hadrian for Christ- I mean, Merlin's sake.~~ Hadrian looked a little peeved but mostly bemused as he was shoved a little less than lightly into one chair while Calderon-boot (that was annoying to sound out in his head, he decided to shorten it, sticking to Calderon to avoid getting him mixed up with Ravenclaw Johnathan Boot) plopped unceremoniously across from him. Tom was too far away to fully hear the conversation but from what he gathered, Calderon was asking for tutoring. A fifth-year asking a fourth-year for tutoring. Go- Circe, he needed Hadrian in his room. The smartness room, he meant. The metaphorical room. It sounded weird when he just said room like he was referring to his bedroom. No, no thanks, he didn't want anyone anywhere near where he spent his summers. He shivered at the prospect.

He brought out the diary and added "Tutors fifth year(s)" to a list that was gradually getting longer. He really wanted to get through his analysis of Hadrian quickly so he could rule off this chapter and go back to writing about his plans and whatever he pleased. Geraldine Archerhart simply begged for a page and would get one once he acquired the appropriate books on famous mythic witches.

_-_-_

"Mulciber, I know you're there" Tom announced offhandedly while peering around a cornerstone on the seventh floor. Hadrian had disappeared again for the third time that week.

"I'm not Mulciber" A voice replied and Tom jumped, spinning around with a heated glare pinned on the oh so infuriating Orion Black. He was smiling serenely, shorter than Tom yet still looking down at him. "I wouldn't stalk him if I were you"

"I'm not stalking," Tom said indignantly before smoothing the irritation out of his features. Black just had a way of getting under his skin like no other. Well, that wasn't strictly true. Dumbledore could be just as awful if not worse. 

He wanted to leave it at that, Black wasn't worth his time, but his curiosity got the best of him. "Even if I were, why do you say that? It's not like anything could come of it"

"It's not in your best interests" Black said and, while he didn't shrug per se, Tom very much felt the dismissal of a shrug. But pureblood didn't shrug, that was plebian. It was among a few other rules he'd picked up and written in his diary. 

Unsure and more than a little confused, he watched Black's back as he walked away from him and turned around the corner, out of sight. He'd bet half-a-bar that what he said had some sort of cryptic meaning. Actually, no, he'd bet a galleon. He needed to curb his muggle slang use.

But Tom wasn't about to listen to Black so the bet was moot. For all he knew, he could be tricking him as his motives still remained unknown. Or Tom could be over-analysing, he had a tendency to do that.

He had a tendency to under-analyse too.

_-_-_

Three weeks. It was an entire bloody three weeks before Tom managed to tail him for longer than a few minutes. He'd even forgone his clacking oxfords for his significantly tattier but less worn spare shoes to ensure he was really quiet. That, on top of a disillusionment charm combined with a silencing charm should have him covered. The disillusionment wasn't exactly perfect and was actually quite uncomfortable but it hadn't been covered in class yet so he was allowing himself room for some imperfections.

During those awful three weeks, his diary had yearned for a change of pace yet he had to settle for little bites of information. He now knew that Hadrian took his time to get to class and was often late. He chewed the ends of his quills and threatened to poke anyone who pointed it out with those same quills. All of Hufflepuff had seemingly abandoned him with the exception of Calderon and a fellow fourth-year named Linda Treadman. His hair grew quickly so he got Treadman to trim it during third-period charms on a Tuesday (much neater than his personal attempts but unruly regardless) and he supported the Backhandle Quadmore quidditch team but favoured the Holyhead Harpies. He knew many little facts about Hadrian, none of which were helpful. 

Hadrian, or "Harry" he supposed, had taken a long-winded treck from the east side of the castle to the north. Tom wasn't sure which name to use, he much preferred Hadrian because it sounded proper and any future follower of his should have a proper name but Harry was what Hadrian had switched to. Tom wished he could switch to Thomas. He needed a new name. 

Currently, he was a few paces behind his target, walking down a fifth-floor corridor. He hadn't seen another student for some time and it was getting late. With the storm outside it was cool as well, he had no doubt he'd be able to see his own breath if it weren't for the charm.

Suspiciously looking from left to right, Hadrian stopped in front of a door before slipping inside. Tom followed. 

The classroom was familiar, Tom reckoned as he entered, it might have been the old divination room before the new professor took over and relocated to the top of the North Tower, only a few paces away but the professor had insisted. Something about airs and proximity to the outer galaxy had been the reason if he recalled correctly. Inside, the desks were organised in a standard set up but he did spy a few remnants of personalisation, like the diagram demonstrating common omens in the far left corner and the lone crystal ball collecting dust on the top of the cupboard. However, the main article of the room was Hadrian himself.

Who was looking directly at Tom. 

With a bang, the classroom door was spelled shut and the clinking of the lock clicking into place was loud in the silence of the room. Only the ambience of the rain pattering on the windows and Hadrian's breathing could be heard, quickly joined by Tom's own panicked breaths as his silencing charm began to fade. 

"Hormenem Revelio" Hadrian didn't seem as small and frail as he usually did as he slashed the wand movements and powered towards Tom, who had all but become a part of the wall behind him in a mad scramble backwards, wand readied and a stunning spell on the tip of his tongue-

"Expelliarmus!" Tom's wand went flying and Hadrian's found its place pressed against Tom's throat. "I know what you are, Tom" He snarled, words dripping with venom. Lost for words, Tom could only stare with wild eyes, body almost vibrating with fear. 

What he is? What is Tom? The tone was so accusatory, what could Tom have possibly done to warrant this? He didn't remember a Hadrian at the orphanage, he didn't think he could forget such intense green eyes, cold as the gem they resembled. He couldn't do anything, trapped, no wand and at the mercy of a boy who couldn't reach his eyes without tip-toeing. 

His train of thought derailed as he registered the strangest feeling humming at the tip of Hadrian's wand where it made contact with his throat. Cold- no, an absence of heat, absence of everything. Numb. A glow, emerald like his eyes and just as striking, silhouetting his assailant's face and lighting the misshapen jagged ends of his hair. He could only blame the shock when the next line of thought crossing his mind was _I really want to drag a brush through that hair_ followed by _I'm going to die and the last of my energy will be wasted envisioning myself fixing my murderer's hair_. 

But then, it stopped. 

Wands clattered to the floor. Face from cold to pained. Eyes green to brown. Gone was the predator and here was the familiar prey, hunched and backing away from Tom with hands masking his face. Hadrian fell, hands thrown behind him and barely stopping his fall.

Tom slumped against the wall, breathing heavily with way too many questions buzzing around his mind for coherency. What? Why? Nothing made sense. So many answers far beyond his reach. His entire world flipped from a certain end to living, breathing, mortifying shock. How was this... How? "...Hadrian?"

The other boy took a sharp inhale, shivering and hiccuping. He nodded frantically and scrubbed at his face. "Oh, Merlin" He cursed, voice trembling the same way his body was. "Oh, Tom, I'm... It's not me, you've got to understand Tom... you've got to..." His pleas were desperate and directed towards the ceiling like a muggle priest in frantic prayer. As though the devil had already been and gone with promise of return. 

Something had settled between them, a sudden unexpected calm after a lightning strike that disappeared just as quickly as it had struck. Everything was as it had been, the dust undisturbed and the rain pattering outside. Like nothing had happened. Yet something monumental had just occurred.

He took a second to just watch his attacker. He was lay a metre from him, elbows supporting his upper body and just barely preventing a complete collapse. His head was tucked to his chest protectively. Visually, Tom was doing a lot better, back to the wall and sat with one leg arched and the other stretched out. Internally, he wasn't so sure. He focused on evening his breathing.

"... It's not you?" Tom repeated once he could choke out the words. There was too much to unpack. Hadrian's head flicked up, considerably duller eyes meeting his own. His expression was a painting of repulsion. 

"No, no, no, that- I'll sound crazy, but that's Harry, h-he hates you, Merlin he hates you so much" He explained in a feverish manner, bringing himself upright only to hug his legs to his chest, head hiding behind his limbs. Tom wondered if he was making up for the new haircut. "He was going to, to kill you and he's not me! He's in here" He jabbed a finger at his temple. "Here! He's why, he's" Hadrian took a deep breath, staving off hyperventilation as he began a cycle, tapping seconds onto his knee. Tom filed away that technique for later, just in case he ever was victim to a panic attack ~~again~~. Maybe he'd write it in his diary. 

Once he was done, Hadrian became much calmer and collected. He didn't straighten his back or regain the confidence that possessed him earlier but he lowered his legs and looked up at Tom, even if it was through his lashes and missed his eyes completely. "Occlumency" Tom identified, that's what he'd been doing. Leander's observation had become a whole lot more interesting upon seeing it in action. 

"...Yeah, I, uh, that's how I separate him- Harry" He explained, shrugging as though blowing off a compliment. Tom pursed his lips. "I've always had him- his memories, he's not been good for me and I, I don't think he's a good person..."

Tom took a deep breath and rose from the floor, patting down his crumpled uniform. A quick look out the frosted window told him it really was late now, if not past curfew. Why he was focusing on arbitrary facts like that rather than the literal would be murderer and downright headcase in front of him, he wasn't entirely sure. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism. 

Scrubbing his eyes almost violently, Hadrian followed suit but neglected to straighten his tie or brush the dust from his cloak. No, he wrapped his arms around himself in a pitiful parody of a hug and ducked his head low. To think that he had tried to kill him mere moments ago... Tom wasn't sure he'd be able to process that when this was how the killer presented himself. It did not feel real.

But it was.

"...So, Harry, he's someone else and he... wants me dead" Tom sounded out the sentence as though it were composed from a foreign language. Or thick cockney slang, those deep London chaps spoke in riddles and he was glad he didn't have to deal with them while he was at Hogwarts. Again, his mind was wandering from the rather important dilemma embodied by the scrawny fourteen year old in front of him. 

"Yes!" Hadrian blurted loudly before reverting back to his panicked nattering. "Yes, he, he hates you more than anything, hates me, he h-hates his life and he's so full of pain... so much pain" He was moaning as though he felt the pain he talked about, close to sobbing even. "...I want him gone, I want him gone so bad"

As Hadrian devolved into nonsensical mutterings once more, Tom watched on blankly as his mind ran through what he'd just learned. Hadrian used occlumency to separate himself from an entity, a person who went by "Harry" and was the polar opposite of his host in almost every single way. Was this possession? He hadn't really researched into ghosts yet, or atleast not past how they exist. It reminded him of the tale of inner demons and devils he'd heard when forced to meet with the priest. An evil residing within an innocent, tempting him to sin. Murder was sin and the Hadrian he was talking to (could he call this talking? This was barely a conversation) didn't look like he could hurt a fly. It definitely felt more apt to this situation than it did Tom's as the priest had believed. 

"...I want him gone... go away... go..." Hadrian whimpered to himself, nails digging into the fabric around his torso. That was going to crease badly for sure.

Hadrian was still pleading. So Harry hadn't left. He could come back. He could try again. 

He could murder Tom. 

There was no way he could allow for that to happen. He hadn't bettered himself enough, he wasn't the smartest in the current room by a long shot and, Chri-Circe, he hadn't even completed his OWLS. There was nothing to his name. He was nothing. A nobody. He'd die as no one. Lived as nothing.

"We-we need to swear an oath" He declared, fast and frantic. He'd read about those, oaths that could bind a person to an agreement and prevent them from achieving a certain goal. But he didn't know any oaths and the library was closing and they needed a third party, he knew that much- "Tempus"

He let out a sigh of relief. The early spring-late winter nights had deceived him. They had time. But still not enough to be dawdling.

Without caring for Hadrian's state of mind or body, he grabbed the boys arm roughly and dragged him towards the library. He got so far as three corridors before they ran into some students that gave the pair questioning looks, prompting Tom to cast another disillusionment charm once they had passed them. No doubt the rumours would circulate but Tom had almost _died_ and _still could._ He quite frankly couldn't give a damn.

Once in the library, he dropped the charm. Hadrian seemed to jerk back into reality, scrubbing at his eyes once again which were red with both irritation and tears, and joined in the frantic search for books on oaths. What branch of magic were oaths even? Where should he look? Did the library even have books on oaths? This was just more evidence to show that he had gotten too comfortable in his position as smartest, his intelligence was failing him when he needed it most. 

"What are you doing?" A prim voice asked, its owner eyeing the odd pair as they skimmed shelves in a frenzy. Druella Rosier was stood by the bookshelf opposite them with a runic text between her fingers, briefly forgotten as she watched them with mild fascination. A sixth year. The rumours were definitely going to circulate. 

"Anything on oaths" Tom said briskly, he was already in the deep end and wasn't about to decline an offered hand when drowning. 

"I saw Black reading something that might fit that description" She responded, pointing to the left. Black. Of course it was Black. It was always, always Black. Tom nodded and followed her direction.

Black was indeed reading a book on oaths, open on a page about the Conditional Vow which sounded just about perfect for their predicament. The boy looked up, his grey eyes full of knowing. He put the book down on the table, still open on the same page, before strolling towards the exit. 

Not about to question him with other priorities plaguing his mind such as _preventing his own death_ , Tom picked up the hefty tome and quickly motioned for Hadrian to follow him as he pushed past Black and all but threw himself into the nearest vacant classroom. 

With a loud bang that made Hadrian jump, he slammed the text onto the front desk and skimmed the page, cursing as he remembered the requirement of a third party. He had already known that! Panic was really addling his brain. He ran to the door and opened it, scanning the corridor for someone he could grab and possibly obliviate later (he'd never done that before, but today was turning out to be a true day for firsts) only to find Black, again, now walking down the corridor too slowly for someone who was almost definitely aware of how fast curfew was approaching. 

Tom allowed himself a few seconds to fume, breathing heavily as Black looked up and met him with a smile, entering the room without Tom asking him to. 

"It wouldn't be my first time performing a vow" Black commented, already prepping himself for the incantation by taking his place between Tom and Hadrian. "So you can be sure that I won't falter" That bloody serene smile was still in place on his face and Tom couldn't remember wanting to cut a frown into someone's skin before but he had already established that today was a day for firsts.

The vow was frustratingly simple. Hadrian swore he will not kill him upon the condition that Tom would not kill him either. To fulfil such a balanced condition, both must intend to murder the other at the same time. Tom may have killed animals before but he's never killed a human, not even a muggle. He felt much safer once the threads of magic sank into their joined hands, leaving no trace of the vow behind. 

Before Tom could even open his mouth, Black cut in with "You don't have to worry about me gossiping" and left with the air of someone that knows things he shouldn't and is fully aware of his position. At the top. 

Hadrian fainted and, honestly? Tom was tempted to copy him. But he wouldn't, there were plans to put into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three major things about this:
> 
> I've decided to start to implement London slang from the time period into this. Tom is trying to drop it but it's so very ingrained into him as it has been for the eleven years before he knew about Hogwarts. 
> 
> He's also far from perfect and well respected. He had excellent grades and Abraxas sees potential but he's a filthy mudblood who doesn't fully know all the nuances of being a pureblood, nevermind a Slytherin pureblood. He's trying. He's also not a cold-hearted killer yet. He doesn't care for people and he sees them as tools to better himself. But he's not-not killed someone because he's empathetic or anything. He's just not had a reason to yet. 
> 
> I also came up with a reason for Orion's weirdness aside from him just being Like That. The original explanation was something vague about the family madness or whatever but now I have a thought out explanation that, warning, is quite sad.


	3. Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom acquires a stalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of irony going on throughout this fic I've realised due to the fact that Tom doesn't know his origins and differs from his future self.

The roles had been reversed. 

Ever since he had dropped him off at the hospital wing and resumed classes, Hadrian had been stalking him. Openly. Nothing about this was stealthy and it was doing the opposite of wonders for his already dying public image. From Mudblood Fake Slytherin Teacher's Pet to Mudblood Fake-Slytherin Teacher's Pet that's Friends with Crazies. And by association, he was a crazy himself. 

Before, Tom had kept hidden with his activities only known to himself, his diary and the infuriating Orion Black (who had kept to his word and not gossiped. But that was a guillotine waiting to chop regardless given the number of witnesses when he had been running around trying to avoid being murdered), now Hadrian trailed a mere metre behind Tom and his justifiably unnerved company. A pathetic lost little puppy that Tom had fed once and now kept coming back for more. 

It could have been tolerable if Hadrian possessed any of the characteristics Harry did – aside from his inexplicable intense hate for Tom – because then he would have been of use. But no, for every mannerism, quirk and skill Tom had listed about Harry, he now had a countering trait for Hadrian.  
__

_\- Progidy // Average_  
_\- Confident // Nuerotic_  
_\- Sane // Insane_  
_\- Tutors Fifth Year(s) // Has a Tutor_  
_\- Almost untrackable // Never ~~fucking~~ leaves_

  
For Chri-Merlin's sake, he'd even gotten a fellow Hufflepuff to perform a regrowth charm on his hair. 

Okay, he had to admit that Harry held flaws that Hadrian didn't. For example, Hadrian was an occlumense, generally liked by his house, understood Arithmancy and didn't kill people. However, at the end of the day, Hadrian was a straight-laced Dumbledore worshipping Hufflepuff and quite frankly a waste of Tom's time. There was a reason why he only knew the bare bones about him before Harry came along. 

"Oh, Thank Slytherin!" Edwin exclaimed exaggeratedly as they entered the great hall, stripped of their unwanted follower. If he went so far as to sit with them at Slytherin table, Tom wouldn't be too afraid to bet that Edwin would straight up tackle the boy. Muggle style. "Doesn't he have his own friends in his own damn house?"

"He does and they're glaring at us right now" Leander pointed out as he sat down for lunch, serving himself a generous amount of bacon for his sandwich. A good portion of Hufflepuff was indeed glaring at them from across the hall. It was quite a feat considering that Ravenclaw stood between them.

Leander took a bite from his stuffed sandwich, only to spit it out in surprise when Mulciber spoke up from right beside him. "They are not his friends, they are his pity party" It was always amusing to see how the fifth-year could get under charming Leander's skin so easily and probably why he tended to target him specifically. Tom had never been victim to Mulciber's sneaking, partly because they seemed to have some sort of unusual respect between them but mostly because Tom's upbringing wouldn't allow for that. His reflexes were fine-tuned. The only exception to that rule was sitting a good few seats down from them next to his cousin, Walburga. 

Inevitably, this lead to Edwin laughing obnoxiously loud on purpose because any chance for pinched face Avery to undermine classically handsome Lestrange was going to be snapped up and bled dry. Which then meant that Leander would respond with something scathing, hitting Edwin where he'll feel it the most (his mother's marital status) while Tom stares into the gravy pooling around his mash reflecting his exasperated face back up at him. 

Later, during Care, it was somewhat interesting to note that the Treadman girl no longer partnered with Hadrian as she had done in every class he'd seen them share recently. No, Hadrian was surrounded by his usual pandering group that were ready to jump into action if he so much as sneezed while taking notes on the Grindylow they were observing. It was a disgusting display of overly affectionate house unity but at least while he was swamped by yellow-black students, he couldn't mither Tom or even be within his general vicinity. Slytherin was a threat in Hufflepuff's eyes. Yet the student never seemed to have too much trouble extricating himself from the group when outside of class.

"H-hey Riddle" He muttered with a meek smile, barely visible with the hair draped over his face. The library used to be Tom's favourite place and now this quivering thing was ruining the experience for him. The irritating boy was stood opposite to where he sat at the table by the runes section, a book of his own clutched protectively to his chest and head bowed waiting for permission to sit. It took all of Tom's willpower to not just sigh as if the world's weight were upon his shoulders like Abraxas did last Friday when Edwin pestered him for romantic advice. Just because the man was betrothed already, it didn't mean that he had any experience in courting. Mummy and Daddy had set it all up for him. 

Instead, Tom nodded with a polite smile which Hadrian chose to interpret as permission to sit. Now, it wouldn't be so bad if the boy got on with his own devices but no, he's simply got to attempt at conversation with him. Clearly, he could not read social cues. 

"Um, what are you up to?" He asked with yet another shy smile that creased his brown eyes just a little. Tom groaned, internally.

"Reading"

"Ah, um, what are you reading?"

"A book"

"What sort of book?"

"One with words"

"What's, what's the title?"

"I've forgotten"

"Oh... well, what does it say?"

"I don't know"

"Um, can't you, I don't mean to be rude but, uh, can't you read it?"

"No"

"...Oh"

Such was the general drift of most of their conversations. At least, that was the road they took after Hadrian revealed that he would not be divulging any information about Harry, as per Dumbledore's orders. Not that Tom was going to leave it that, he would get what he wanted eventually. He just needed a plan for that to happen and nothing really felt viable. Threatening was out of the equation and so was essentially any tactic he would use back at the... dwelling he spent his summers. Hadrian was still Dumbledore's charity case and his control had only intensified now Harry had made his appearance. It was a wonder Tom hadn't been called up yet for how attached Hadrian was to him and that was exactly why he had to keep this act up. 

"Are you certain you can't tell me anything?" Lifting his gaze from his book, Tom asked anyway. Hadrian clicked onto the topic without further nudging, he's asked this question before. Repeatedly.

"I, I really don't want to say – not just because of Dumbledore!" He added onto the end hurriedly. "But, me, I'm scared that if, well he's not very good at occlumency like I am but I think he could come back, and I don't want that to happen just because I talked about him..." Ridiculous, talking about someone doesn't speak them into existence. Or maybe it does, Tom's never dealt with a possession before and none of the examples in the book he's currently got in his hands match this scenario even remotely. But at least he's gleaned some new information, Harry is bad at occlumency. "Oh, Tom, he's so awful... I'm trying to be nothing like him so we can be more separate... h-he hates you and Dumbledore... and he like creatures and snakes and short hair an-and duelling... so I'm going to be the opposite of that” The boy continued, despite his earlier claims that he wouldn't and, ah, that's why he's so insistent to cling onto him. Harry wouldn't so he will. Ugh. A few seconds go by filled by only the scratching of quills and page turning of the library ambience before he realised that Hadrian had finished speaking. 

Tom isn't too sure where to go from here. He already threw threats out of the window. But how to get someone to do what you want otherwise? He thinks to examples he's seen in his life. Slughorn offers connections in return for an ego boost. Abraxas divulges information to establish one-way trust and debt. Edwin... annoys a person until they give in and if they don't, he moves onto a weaker target. Leander charms a person so that they don't notice the underhanded motives. Mulciber intimidates. Walburga weighs in on her status. Rosier, her conventional beauty. 

None of those practices would work besides Mulciber's or Leander's. Mulciber's was already discounted so charm it is. Except Leander works his charm on love interests... which did not apply to this situation. The day Tom settles for a snivelling fool like Hadrian is the day he relinquishes his title as a wizard.

Ah, but there was something else. Charm made a person feel good so that they don't feel bad for complying with the request. The reverse could be done, making Hadrian feel bad so that he feels good for complying with the request. 'Guilt'. 

"I suppose, you don't have to, it's just that I've been feeling rather... disquietened" That was not the correct word. "Over this whole situation, I mean, he tried to kill me... I don't think I've... fully processed the gravity of that" Truth. "But, I understand... I guess Dumbledore knows best" Lie. "I'll be going now, sorry for bothering you..." He put as much plea into his eyes as possible and pouted just a little. Letting his finger trail along the table, he got up and left but not before turning his head to give Hadrian one last meaningful look. 

Whether or not that looked genuine, Tom didn't know. He would be repeating the performance in front of the mirror later in order to check.

"I wouldn't call it guilting..." Leander said when Tom had requested his advice on how to guilt someone into giving you what you want. Well, that wasn't quite it, he was more confirming his methods. "...But I have done that before and yes, it worked out"

"It plays on the reciprocant's feelings of guilt, it's guilting" Honestly, they were both Slytherins here, Leander needn't put up false pretences and hide his true motives. Tom sank a little in his mattress. The two were facing each other in their dorm, Leander on Edwin's bed rather than his own since it was closer. The sun had yet to set and it was only seven when he had last checked so their fellow year mates wouldn't be up for a short while. 

"Well, it sounds bad when you put it like that – anyway, just who have you got your sights set on then? It can't be Rosier- no, Black?" He went on, leaning against one of the bed posters with a conspiratorial look on his face. 

"Rosier? Black? Leander, I knew you were lacking academically but now you're starting to sound about as sane as Peverell" Seriously? Tom would sooner give Dumbledore his diary than date one of those two. Rosier was as ugly as a particularly unfortunate donkey and Black was, well he was _Black_. There was a whole page in his diary dedicated to why Black was just generally the kind of person one shouldn't even associate with as friends, nevermind lovers. Granted, it was a little bias and one of the reasons was how perfectly straight his nose was (they had a history of inbreeding, there was no way it wasn't charmed) but still, it was founded in logic.

"What?" Scandalised, Leander brought a hand to his heart and physically reared back from Tom as though he'd just declared muggles on par with Wizards. "I've only ever seen two women that match Rosier in her radiance and Black, well, she's a Black" Oh. He meant Druella and Walburga. 

Not Emory and Orion. 

"I suppose," Tom said, trying his best not to let on his realisation and resulting embarrassment. It was obvious! Girls. That's what people date. Females. Makes sense. "If you're marrying for money" There, a reason.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd be in it for love" Wait, no. Well, if it covered his blunder he guessed he could pretend to find interest in that sort of thing. 

"Sure."

Tom didn't really... get love. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it. Back at the orphanage, there was no such thing, especially for outcasts such as himself. Actually, outcast implied he'd been thrown out. Perhaps self-imposed isolation would be more fitting? Either way, he didn't understand why someone would act outside of personal gain. Why waste energy on others when you could spend it on yourself? If he was getting something in return, then yes, that made sense. Otherwise, he couldn't see the reasoning. 

He'd only ever brought this line of thought up with another person once. Alice Sleet had been working part-time at the orphanage during one Autumn. The time frame itself hadn't been anything if not mundane and very much felt like a re-run of every Autumn he had ever witnessed in his then ten years of life on Earth. But Alice was there on temporary, working for a spare shilling.

She would smile at him whenever they crossed paths and say hello. Even start a conversation from time to time, asking him about what he was reading. Little things that felt much bigger to him. He would have driven her away just like the rest of the children and adults at that depraved place but she hadn't given him any reason too ~~and I quite liked the company~~. Then she gave him a little collection of tales in the form of a yellowed book that was a little battered around the edges ~~that is still tucked away in that wardrobe, how dare that foul man set it alight with so little care.~~

"Why'd you do that?" He had asked, the cockney still trimming the edges of his speech. Around a year before, he'd begun the effort to drop it but it proved to be quite difficult. He wouldn't completely lose it until the summer next.

"Because you like books" She had said as if it were the simplest thing in the world and he was dim for not understanding. He had scowled at that, he remembered. 

"But I haven't given you anythin'" He'd continued, igniting a confusion that he still flickered to this day. It had been both an enlightening and further muddling conversation that they had, little Tom sat on the edge of his creaking metal framed bed (he still has the same one today) and Alice crouched in front of him. 

"You don't need to, I'm giving it to you because I want to" Again, she had said it so simplistically with a little knowing smile that was teetering towards cheeky. It pulled at the skin that was already taught from the way her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun. 

"But why?" The scowl had only deepened, but it hadn't been malicious, just a reflection of his internal thoughts. 

"Well it's a nice thing to do, and that's what kindness is all about"

The book had been her parting gift although she hadn't said so. She didn't return to the orphanage after that day ~~I wish she would have told me~~. 

"I forget that you grew up with muggles" Leander's voice snapped him from his reminiscing, his roommate looking on into the distance with a thoughtful look.

"Well, not everything is betrothal contracts and arranged marriages" Tom definitely didn't scowl at the mention of his background but he may have grimaced a little. "Anyway, I have Runes work to get on with" And with that, the conversation was over.

_-_-_

Morning rays of weak sunshine spilled murky blue into the common room, tinted by the Black Lake's aquatic sheen. Having to spend more time in there to avoid his stalker, Tom had found himself romanticising the place just as he had in first year. Hogwarts would always be beautiful to him but he had forgotten its value after growing accustomed to the stone walls and enchanted ceilings. Magic had lost a little of its novelty. Oh well, there was always new branches to discover which was precisely why he loved it so.

Illuminated by the green light, Tom was sat in the alcove writing a page on Geraldine Archerhart at long last when Abraxas approached him. Spotting his arrival, Tom settled his quill beside him and let his diary lie on his lap, cover closed. 

"Something is going on that I don't know about but you do" He stated, looking down at Tom with an expectant expression. 

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me Tom, conditional vows? Oaths? And that Hufflepuff has changed again" Hook, line and sinker. He had seen this coming, truly, but that didn't mean he welcomed it with open arms. He didn't want to explain the situation, Tom had taken a sort of possession over the strange case of Harry and Hadrian. He found Harry first and didn't want to share. But there wasn't much he could do about that now. 

"You're right, he has changed and it's an awfully long story" He had to stifle a sigh as Abraxas made himself nice and comfy on a nearby chair after pushing it a little closer with a fine demonstration of wordless magic. Show off. Tom could do certain things wandlessly, the trouble was that they weren't strictly spells. 

"He's not quite a sear, he's possessed by something that goes by the name of 'Harry' and he's the one that's skilled and just generally competent" He continued and Abraxas smiled at the humour while the greed in his eyes shone brightly. "He used occlumency to separate Harry from himself, I imagine the second personality mingling with his own was what drove him mad but I can't quite concur just yet"

"What does that have to do with the vow Rosier mentioned" See, there was Abraxas subtly paying him in kind, revealing his source. There was a trade going on between the lines. 

"Well, Harry tried to kill me but Hadrian intervened"

"You don't say" He leaned forward, those pale eyes vibrant with the prospect of learning more. 

"I do," Tom replied with a little smirk because he just loved responding that way to that non-question. It was one of those cliche phrases he had a liking for. "So I had to convince Hadrian to strike an oath with me in case Harry came back"

"That's... how peculiar" Abraxas said after a few moments of contemplation.

"It gets even stranger, Hadrian wants to be nothing like him... according to him Harry likes duelling, creatures – he specifically mentioned snakes - and hates Dumbledore"

"Why, he sounds like the perfect Slytherin" Abraxas mused. He does, actually, just another reason why Harry was better than Hadrian. If only they could overcome the whole murder ordeal."If it were coming from anyone else, I'd question your validity"

"Well, we live in a world of magic, don't we?" He also liked that phrase, one of his own. Allowed the purebloods to remember the wonders of their world for a second or so.

"We do indeed" Standing up, Abraxas pushed the chair back to where he found it with another wordless spell. "I'm sure there's more to that story but I best not ask for more right now and risk forgetting some of the details" 

Tom smiled pleasantly before returning to his diary, only opening it once Abraxas was well and truly gone. A third-year flickered her gaze in his direction, eyeing the book in passing before quickly averting her gaze when she realised Tom was watching. It was nothing really, he catches a couple stares from time to time. The mudblood orphan who's skill outclasses theirs. Just wait until they hear him hiss. Not yet, but soon he would unveil his little skill. He was on the cusp of discovering something revolutionary. 

His little hissing trick had been kept under wraps for a few reasons. Back when Dumbledore was his only gateway to the world of magic, he was quick to assume that it wasn't good - or at least that other people wouldn't view it as good. Then Slytherin came along and well, they were crawling with snakes weren't they? Snakes on the walls, furniture, floors. Everywhere. Snakes for people too. They'd shunned him and he had been conflicted. They were the house of snakes and last time he checked, they couldn't speak to snakes like _him_ yet had the audacity to throw _him_ around? Well, talking to snakes was _his_ thing and he had learnt to keep _his_ things close. 

Flimsy reasoning really, but eleven-year-old Tom was a possessive little wizard when it came to the few things he owned. Now it had evolved. Timing was everything and now the true meaning of his skill was at his fingertips.

In the library, there was a book that missed the eyes of most. An unintelligible tome of scrawlings clearly written by a drunken scholar who worked miracles when it came to getting his work published. But not to Tom. It read just fine even if the English was a little backwards and the words archaic. He knows its special and connected the dots when Edwin failed to read the cover, eyeing it with open confusion when he had it out at lunch. 

Tom had no idea the language of the snakes could be written and this was also the first time he'd been able to place a name to his ability: parseltongue. 

Yet rather than get to deciphering the old English immediately, he'd written a page on Archerhart. Because he'd been waiting two weeks to write it. Parseltongue had been discovered only two days ago.

But with Archerhart ruled off and parselscript at his fingertips, there was nothing holding him back from learning the how and why behind his skill. Which started with blood. 

He looked at the introduction with incomprehension, sitting up properly on the alcove. Blood. 

But he was a mudblood. 

_This script is one for only those who readeth and speaketh a noble blood that wilt not wash nor taint with decade, century and millennia. We art few now and maybe we shalt groweth, but tis with most wondrous doubt I cast such predictions. Methinks any sear of truest sight would knoweth the same truth. Our blood doest not taketh kind to many, some would bethink t curséd. Nay, we art blesséd. Blood runneth thick and ours coequal thicker._

_Blood that is pure and true, tis. t may not at each moment beest so, unfortunate times may befall us. But Blood wilt out. Only us of truest descent may seek these words. Spoken. Writ. t'will not beest learnt. I forbid t so. Hark hither, mine descent, hark close and readeth close. For I wilt not writeth once more. Blood is thick. Blood is pure. Blood is truth. Blood is war._

\- Salazar Slytherin

__

He placed the book down on his lap in a slow motion, closing the cover and wiping at some of the dust he had missed earlier. There wasn't time to unpack all of that, his free period was coming to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually written [Salazar's Journal]() and uploaded it onto ao3 (Well, it's still in the process of updating, I'm adding a new chapter every day) and I'm going to write other made up books that I reference in this fic. Not sure what to tag them as, but they're written as if by authors from within the HP universe.
> 
> I'm aware the founders wouldn't have spoken in Shakespearian English but I wanted it to be somewhat legible to modern readers :P
> 
> Also it's 1 am wtf when did that happen?


	4. 'show'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's guilting proves successful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this because I feel awful! And this fic is fun to write!!
> 
> AKA: Why this fic has been updated and not the others
> 
>  
> 
> _Also small note: Neither Tom nor Hadrian are reliable when it comes to narration or dialogue. Hadrian's view of Harry is very skewered and stuffed full of half-truths without context. Tom isn't always correct in his assumptions and holds heavy personal biases towards certain characters that alter his perception of them._

His pace was quick, fast even, but he wasn't quite sprinting down the halls. 

_“...noble blood that wilt not wash nor taint...”_

No, that would be undignified and he is quite the opposite of undignified no matter what the upper years may think.

_“...t may not at each moment beest so...”_

He just had places to be and things to do.

 _“...only us of truest descent...”_

Those places and things did not include running into and almost toppling over Hadrian Peverell in the corridor. Yet the boy still sprung into his path as he turned a corner and nearly sent him to the floor. Hadrian was getting increasingly irritating by the day. 

“Oh, oh, I'm sorry Riddle, I ah – what's this?” The little berk asked, bending down to pick up the journal that had been dropped from his grip in the scuffle.

“Mine is what it is” Tom yanked the journal from his hands with a ferocity that contradicted the gentle care he took in placing it into his bag. There were already pages missing and he didn't want to lose any more. When he looked up, Hadrian still had his hands held to his chest where he had previously cradled the precious tome and there was a definite wobble to his lips and eyes. _Fuck._

As much as he despised the quivering berk before him, he had a reputation to maintain and couldn't be doing with Hadrian bleating about this coarse behaviour. The uncooperative conversations he could get away with due to Hadrian's social ineptitude but it appeared physical actions translated better than words. 

“I was just headed to the library... I don't suppose you'd like to join me” He extended the invitation with great internal reluctance but plastered on a pleasant smile outwardly. As expected, Hadrian's dark brown eyes lit up at the prospect and a little half smile briefly adorned his lips. Tom had noticed that he had these little smiles that only tugged at half of his face which flickered in and out of existence rather quickly. It was like his face wasn't quite on board with what his mind was thinking. 

“I, I'd love to” He said, tugging at the trim of his robes and falling into step behind Tom as they set off. Allowing himself a grimace now his face was no longer in view, Tom noted that at least Hadrian wouldn't attempt conversation until they were settled down and he had built up the confidence to speak further. 

Once in the library, Tom immediately took a seat at his favourite table by the window and set a discarded pile of books between him and Hadrian who sat opposite him. Usually, he'd look down upon students who didn't put their books back where they belonged and cluttered his space, but right now he was thankful. Salazar's journal and his diary were out of view. 

Ideally, he could use a book on older forms of Wizarding English to decipher the passage before him but he didn't want to give Hadrian the conversation starter “what book did you get?” having left their table to find an appropriate text. So instead he'd be using his own knowledge and logic. 

He'd just about sussed out that Slytherin didn't expect his bloodline to become all that spread out in the future when Hadrian finally amassed the courage to speak. 

“I... I was thinking about, you know, what you said about how... that you were scared..”

Tom looked up, confused and more than a little irritated because that was quite the accusation to make since it suggested that not only had Tom Riddle been afraid of something but also that he had admitted as much to Hadrian Peverell of all people. 

“No! No, uh, Dis-disquieted! That was it, you were disquieted” He amended, physically shrinking on himself and hiding behind his hair which had draped over his dipped head like curtains pulled together. Oh. Yes, Tom did recall something like that. In the middle of his journal discovery and general life at Hogwarts, his attempts at guilting Hadrian and the subsequent awkward conversation with Leander had been forgotten (the latter more purposefully than the former). 

“Oh yes, I know what you mean”

“Well, I thought about it and... I don't think it's fair... and I've been a bad friend” 

Tom wanted to scoff at that last word but he supposed anyone who wasn't outright mean would be given that title by Hogwarts' resident meshuggener. But he didn't because it also meant that Hadrian was willing to divulge some information on his curious counterpart. What made it even better was that Dumbledore had specifically told him not to!

“But I can't show you here” Hadrian confessed and Tom couldn't stop himself from wilting at that. Had his excitement bled out too much? He supposed excitement wasn't exactly the correct reaction for this situation. But what was? He wasn't too sure.

“But you will show me” Tom stated and Hadrian took that as a question, despite it being void of any inflexion that would suggest as much, and nodded. 

“I, er, this Saturday? In the, the same classroom that we did the-” At Tom's pointed glare he omitted the word 'vow'. “... yeah?”

“Yes” Tom conceded swiftly, packing up his things. At present, it was Thursday and he had to clear his schedule for Saturday which meant that he had to bump up his Charms and Defence assignment to Friday which then lead to moving his Arithmancy compatibility task to this evening. He was going to be crossing out quite a few items on the week's schedule he'd written in his diary. Or he could simply vanish the ink off the page prematurely since he was sure he could remember just three days of tasks without too much trouble.

“Bye, Riddle!” Hadrian called out behind him as he left, hand meekly raised in a poor imitation of a wave, all nervous and halfway there. Typical Hadrian. 

_-_-_

On Saturday morning he experienced a... delay. 

“So, you're telling me that Peverell's all crazy because there's another guy living in his head” Avery summarised, a pseudo thoughtful look on his face with his head propped on his hand. 

It hadn't taken too long for what Abraxas knew to spread around their house, although only his closer acquaintances were privy to Tom's insider knowledge. The general basis was that Hadrian was not a seer but experiencing some kind of aggressive possession that had encountered Tom. 

“And he tried to kill you” Mulciber cheerily added on, sat next to Leander on one of the common room couches having already frightened the living daylights out of his favourite tease. 

“Other than that, he sounds delightful” Abraxas commented, sitting properly and upholding his grace despite having only gotten himself a stool since he was the last to the little commune. It was a skill Tom envied but would no doubt acquire before Abraxas graduated, learning it from observation. 

“Pfft, yeah, for someone who trips all the time” No longer feigning deep thought, Edwin chuckled, an action which scrunched up his nose unpleasantly. 

“What, like you?” Leander jibed, quick to get back at him for using the opportunity Mulciber's surprise presented for mockery just fifteen minutes ago. But this time Tom wouldn't let the conversation devolve into a squabble so easily. 

“Yes, and I'm meeting him today actually, Hadrian said he'd 'show' me” He interjected and the two would be squabblers flicked their attention back to him as though the tension between them had never been there at all. 

“Show you?” Inquired Leander at the same time Edwin muttered “Hadrian is it?”. Tom elected to ignore the obvious slight in place of the question. 

“Yes, any suggestions for what I should do if Harry makes an appearance?” 

“Duel him!” Edwin snapped, apparently taking a 180-degree mood swing. “See how he puts up in a fight! Mother always said she would refuse any man who couldn't beat her in a duel”

“Your mother really shouldn't be further limiting her already limited options” Leander said with an exaggerated sympathetic tone, shaking his head lightly for added effect. 

Before the two could yet again initiate another pointless argument, Abraxas interrupted with “You make it sound like he wants to woo the man, they were _conditional_ vows, not _marriage_ vows” 

Edwin chose to fume silently at that, much to the delight of Leander. Abraxas may have just belittled and rather humiliated him but he was Abraxas Malfoy and a Seventh Year who was Betrothed already and had Masses of Fortune to his name and a Father who had Significant Political Presence. Edwin was the bastard child of Mother Avery and his blood status was often treated with scepticism as a result. Not that Tom could say much for that himself. 

Or maybe he could, thinking back to the journal that resided in his bag. Unfortunately, he had more immediate issues to address.

“I'd like to know more about him before duelling, for all we know he could be the ghost of a legendary master duellest who's tale has been lost to the test of time. Anything is possible” The group nodded at Tom's words, something which pleased him immensely. Being able to command the attention of a group of individuals with status that was far beyond his own was a testament to his social mobility. “Now, if you don't mind me, we didn't specify a time and I'd quite like to get to this as soon as possible”

_-_-_

Hadrian was already waiting for him when Tom entered the classroom they'd performed the vow in, thankfully now absent of a certain Black who had been present last time. In fact, Black hadn't bothered him for some time which was an absolute blessing that he hoped would continue to bless him. 

The classroom was just how he had remembered it, no sign of investigation in the undisturbed dust and unaltered decoration. The only difference was that Hadrian was sat at one of the desks just off centre with his dragon hide school bag slumped against his legs. It was easy to forget that Hadrian was rich beyond Tom's imagining when he chose to trod about in robes that were a size too big for him. Although, he supposed that was a conscious decision and they certainly didn't look like they weren't tailored. Tom could guess that extra material meant extra cost in the bespoke robe business but he'd always bought second hand so he couldn't know. Mind you, he always fixed them up with magic ever since he'd researched into how in second year. If only Tom's parents had left him riches when he was orphaned instead of giving him up to a penniless orphanage. He had been denied what he deserved.

“You, if you don't mind, you should sit at the, er, desk” Hadrian said, gesturing weakly to the desk adjacent to his. So they weren't bothering with greetings and pleasantries but instead getting straight to the point. Tom approved. Then he remembered that this was _Hadrian_ and he probably hadn't even thought to be polite. 

Tom did as he was told and sat down, turning his chair to face Hadrian. He drew his hand and reached out for Tom's own and Tom obliged. He couldn't fathom any ill intent from Hadrian given his painfully naïve nature. 

As soon as their skin made contact, the world around Tom melted like dripping paint and gave way to an entirely unfamiliar scene.

The first thing he registers is how frightfully cold he is, aided by a chilly breeze winding its way through a forest of thin trees, carrying autumn-bronzed leaves along its drift. Evening is setting in and the sky grows darker, already shrouded somewhat by part way barren branches above. But there's a fire crackling merrily in front of him and warming charms applied to the log he's sat on. There's a stick in his hand that he's idly poking at the kindling while the soft laughter of his companions rings like silver bells in his ears.

A voice that his not his own but comes from him anyway chuckles along to something a girl had just said. She's sat on another log facing the fire and he knows that she was the one who set their gathering of sticks alight and sprung up most of the wards that keep them safe from their pursuers. ~~Pursuers? What pursuers?~~ Her cheeks are rosy like a porcelain doll's but not as bright as the boy on his right who threw his head back in laughter. His complexion rivals the ginger hair atop his head. 

He himself can't muster the same happiness his best friends have ~~I don't know these people~~ and it's because of the damn locket hanging off his neck. He can feel it. He always can. A heavyweight dragging him beneath the surface. He's slowly suffocating, water clogging his lungs and drowning him. He can see the bubbles his breath makes as they leave his throat, taking with them the last dregs of his life. Everything is a blurry mix of varying blue-green hues that are startlingly pretty, he notices, in an odd sense of calm that shouldn't have felt so natural in a situation like this. 

The scene takes a turn for the worst as the setting melds into something similar but different, there's a fire but its out and on a hillside without a tree in sight. The red-haired boy has taken the locket and its changed him, just as he thought it would. He's angry and resentful, reading into things that aren't there and seeing a relationship that doesn't exist. The girl is much the same but only because he provoked her. ~~They're worse than Leander and Edwin.~~

His schoolyard rival turned wartime enemy's face is uncomfortably close as he inspects his own charmed face. He can see the calculation in those pools of icy blue alongside the uncertainty and fear intermingled within their depths before he draws back to announce that he's not sure who he is in a small voice. ~~He has a striking resemblance to Abraxas~~. Relief. He tries to focus on the others in the room but there's a nagging feeling at the back of his head. 

He stares at the blond boy as he becomes younger and now sits upon a broom on a sunny but windy day, miles above the grassy ground below but not far enough to be unable to hear the crowd. ~~I know this place~~. “Practising for the ballet, Potter?” His tone is so different, confident and sneering. A pang of something sombre, what you will become. There's an underlying sense of frustration woven so tightly with infatuation that it's indiscernible where one emotion begins and the other ends. 

Quicker now, the boy is back again but he's a little older yet not as old as before. ~~My age~~. Yet his expression remains unchanged. He's met with jeers when he says “Father bets you won't last ten minutes-”

He doesn't hear the rest of the sentence. Now there's an egg but it's gleaming golden and there's fear and a dragon and a booing crowd-

The egg is underwater and it reminds him of a boy who's also blond but he's nice and a little older with a charming smile-

But then his once handsome face is twisted with aggression and then something else entirely because “Together” they'll both win and the hedge closes around them but they both reach in time and-

Tumbling into the darkness of a graveyard, the ground is cold and unkind but the graves are worse and the boy doesn't look too wary if a bit confused but-

Limp. Lifeless. Prone. Dead. It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault-

“WORMTAIL!” It rips from his throat like lava as he faces the traitor and he's about to do something unforgivable but he's trapped with blood dripping from his arm and there's a cauldron and what are you doing here you can't be here not here not here you of all you can't you have to leave leave now leave leaveleaveleaveleaVELEAVELEAVELEA-

He's on the ground. In the classroom. He's Tom again. 

And Hadrian's eyes are a brilliant green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some old London Slang from this chapter:  
> \- Berk: _a fool, an incompetent [rhy.sl Berkeley hunt = cunt]. Since the 1930s this has fallen into common usage; although I would imagine that most people would not use it so readily if they knew its origin_  
>  \- Meshuggener: _crazy, a crazy person [Yid.]_  
>  \- Bleat[ing]: _to inform on someone to the Police_  
> [Definitions found here](http://www.georgeharley.com/slang)
> 
> [Salazar's Journal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175248/chapters/40382879) is what is being quoted in this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/colespots)


	5. Christ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom encounters Harry. It's stressful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, not been good at updating recently. This fic gets special treatment. But I did not check it more than once before posting.
> 
> Also just found out that my BTEC and A Level exams clash on the same day. If I don't post after May, it's because I died during seven and a half hours of exams back to back. (been told I might get a half an hour break? Isolated? So I don;t cheat? I'm gon have like a loaf og bread n a swig of water n die during that. hnnng)

There are hands around his neck. His feet are barely touching the ground. What Hadrian doesn't have in his height, he more than makes up for with his strength. 

He's ticking through things like a checklist, cataloguing what he notices in an abstract way that is detached from the very real way he's struggling to breathe. 

It seemed to be happening a lot lately, disassociation. Everything is happening, sure, but just a little outside of his reach. Not his physical reach. Metaphysical? Tom didn't know what to call it, but while he knew his lungs were burning, he doesn't _know_ his lungs are burning. He can't quite articulate it outside of saying that it's all just a bit surreal. 

Maybe it's fear. True, in the moment, visceral fear. He'd forgotten what that felt like so it's plausible. But he was fairly certain that it usually entailed a whole lot more screaming and crying, not whatever this is. Mental shut down. Reclusion.

Death is a scary thing. 

Without warning, the bruising vice around his throat relaxed and he regained his footing on the stone floor with a stumble. Gasping for breath, his hold on reality returns and yes, his lungs _burn_. 

"What did you do to me, Tom?" The question is asked with a quiet voice but the tone is deafening. There's a lot of weight behind each inflexion, each stressed word promising something. Promising something bad. 

However, Tom realised, it's a promise he can't deliver on. A vicious kind of optimism flooded Tom's system, allowed him to even his breathing and control his tremors. He looked up at Hadrian – no, this was Harry. He looked up at Harry and donned one of his crueller smirks that's tried and tested to make most people squirm. He almost dropped it when Harry doesn't actually squirm but instead gets an odd mix of offence and repulsion about him. But he only faltered for half a second before fixing the smirk back in place. 

"Do you know what a conditional vow is, Harry?" He asked, voice scratchy, because he can't resist messing with him while also getting the important message across: _I know who you are and you can't do anything about it_. 

Harry's face fell, disgust replaced with fear. The paralysing type, not the squirming he was aiming for. But then again, it means he's struck a chord. Frozen fear is the epitome of the fright response, there isn't a more disarming emotion. Tom had no idea what part of his message caused that or the specifics of why, but he'll take what he can get and roll with it until the ground is flat.

Overconfident, Tom took a deliberate step forward which kicked Harry back into motion. Anger overruns his fear and he mirrors Tom, taking a step towards him. They're so close that Tom can smell the porridge Hadrian must have had earlier on his breath, which is disgusting honestly. It only gets worse when Harry spits a passionate "Fuck. You." chock full of breakfast breath before clocking Tom right on the nose.

The classroom door groaned as it slowly closed once more, Harry having bolted from the room. 

For a couple of seconds, Tom just stood there and wondered whether "bad breath" should be filed under Harry or Hadrian. Then he internally berated himself because there's just been another attempt on his life and who the fuck takes notes on a person's breath?

Pardon his french.

_-_-_

"What the fuck happened to your face?" Oh Edwin, the epitome of everything ungraceful. A buffoon, a true berk through and through. How does he not see it? The reason he is so looked down upon? It is not only his pinched features, slicked hair and pale eyes. His lack of prestige is not entirely due to the fact that he's an asterbar or that his mother looks like she frequents the mott shop for the commercial end of a transaction.

It's his complete utter lack of fucking tact. 

After recovering from his momentary shock, Tom had intended on following Harry to where ever he'd run off to. But the run through of _point me_ spells just simply hadn't worked, both when applied to _Hadrian Peverell_ and _Harry Peverell._ So Tom had returned to the common room - without fixing his face. Foolish.

"Out of the way" He muttered coldly, all but shoving Edwin from his path to his dormitory's bathroom. He was all kinds of out of sorts because of the encounter. All of this near-death experience business was doing a number on his health, he was sure of it.

Once he reached the bathroom, he found himself glaring at his reflection. Upon his perfectly crafted (okay, perhaps he was exaggerating a little, he hadn't attained perfection yet, but he was far from the likes of nebbish Edwin) face was an unsightly red welt directly centred upon his nose. If he ended up with a crooked nose because of his neglect to heal it immediately, Hadrian was going to have to be destroyed. Conditional vow or not. It was one thing to attempt to kill a man, it was something else entirely to permanently disfigure him. Not to mention, now he'd seen it, his brain had caught up to the fact that his nose was _broken_ and that stung like a son of a-

"I can help with tha-"

"Oh for God's sake Orion!" Tom yelped and turned, shoulders strung high and body rigid. There was the blasted boy who'd been avoiding him, choosing the most inopportune moment to make his reappearance. He could have sworn he'd locked the damn door yet the bloody bane of his existence was stood in the doorway, looking slightly awkward. The short boy didn't even make it up to three-thirds of the frame. 

Orion cleared his throat. "I can help with that" Shaking away his uncomfortable air, he took a few steps forward and gently rose his wand. Tom, a little lost for words and quite decidedly worn out with the proceedings of the day so far (Christ, he hadn't even made it to _lunch_ yet. Maybe he missed it. God- Merlin knows), leant away from the wand but made no effort outside of arching his back to stop Orion as he swished it.

Wordless magic. Because why the fuck would Orion _not_ know wordless healing magic. 

Why the fuck-

At this point, Tom wasn't about to dispute anyone if they tried to tell him he'd hallucinated everything from waking up that morning up until this point and beyond. He was tempted to pinch his arm to check if he was dreaming but aborted the motion when he remembered that that was a very muggle gesture and wouldn't help anything.

Instead, he turned his attention back to his reflection and noted that, to his immense relief, his face was back in order and his nose was structurally sound. 

"I'm going to bed" He stated, devoid of emotion. He didn't wait for Orion's response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London Slang Use  
>  **Berk** \- a fool, an incompetent [rhy.sl Berkeley hunt = cunt]  
>  **Asterbar** \- a bastard [semi-backsl.]  
>  **Mott Shop** \- a brothel  
>  **Nebbish** \- a nobody, a loser [Yid. nebech, an inept pitiable man]  
> [Definitions can be found here](http://www.georgeharley.com/slang)
> 
>  
> 
> Am sorry the chapter is short I am quite burnt out rn with college but this was fun :)))))  
> Also Tom is freaking out that's why he's being super bad at reverting to muggle slang and curses and blasphemy and all that goodness.


	6. Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is called to the Headmaster's office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read some really creatively well-written fic and now I'm inspired to write this... admittedly not as well written fic :P It's just for fun though so I'm not going to be too harsh on myself. Maybe in the future, I'll rewrite it. 
> 
> Also thanks for the support in the comments! It's wonderful to hear that people are enjoying this tommary word vomit :P

A staccato beat tapped itself on the wood where Tom's quill met his desk, garnering a couple of annoyed glances from his fellow classmates but he couldn't find it within himself to care. He was much more annoyed than they were and the tapping quelled his other more violent urges. Like his irrational need to send the bright light of a bone splintering spell at Hadrian's empty chair. Tom knew nothing good would come of it yet he couldn't shake the feeling that it would help. Just a little. 

Not at all really. 

Besides, now that he had done the prescribed three stirs to his potion, he had nothing to do but wait until he can add the crushed newt tails. The liquid simmered and the gentle popping of bubbles blended into the lull of the classroom ambience. After managing to filter out Professor Slughorn's voice all these years, his classroom's soundscape was hardly difficult to ignore. Especially when in favour of the rather pressing matters taking up the forefront of his mind.

His diary lay unabashedly open. With the knowledge that he'd be able to flick the page with a little bit of wandless magic should anyone approach him, he was not worried about anyone reading the contents. Scrawled across the current page were the developments of the Hadrian-Harry case, something that's been occupying him almost completely the last few days whether he wishes to think on it or not. The topic won't leave his brain alone. 

Since the last attempt on Tom's life, in an alarmingly frequent succession of such attempts, Harry had failed to turn up to lessons. Similarly, Dumbledore had been making frequent use of a fresh-faced supply whom Tom can vaguely remember as a student from when he was in second year. A stern Scottish woman who was surprisingly good at the task at hand. Tom already much preferred her to the old meshuggener to the point that he almost wished for Harry to not come back. 

However, he had the distinct feeling that the boy would plague his mind far into the future if he disappeared without answering even one of Tom's numerous questions.

A shocked grunt alerted Tom that Edwin had woken from his mid class nap, startled for a reason only Merlin knew and Tom was perfectly content without the knowledge. Instead of addressing his no doubt failing desk partner, he flicked to a blank page with a subtle motion of his hand. To an outside observer, it should look like a draft was responsible. He hoped. Not that anyone was observing since Tom had ceased his tapping, distracted by Edwin. 

"Merlin, I hate potions" Edwin grumbled and pretended to do something useful, looking over the brim of the cauldron with faux interest. There was no doubt in Tom's mind that Edwin would be dropping the subject at NEWT level and sticking to careers that avoided the use of potions.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Tom added the crushed newt and set the potion to stir clockwise thrice and returned to his thoughts. Five more minutes and a stasis charm later, the potion would be completed to a standard that would have Slughorn commending his "consistently outstanding work, well done m'boy". His own prediction of future Slughorn had him rolling his eyes at the prospect. 

After class, lunch proved to be a boring affair. A little more irritating than usual, too. He had always been aware of the droll topics his peers liked to discuss but had it always been so trivial? Prefects Druella Rosier and Cordelia Greengrass were fawning over "how cute" it was of Rosier's mother to buy the two of them matching ribbons for their hair, which must have been the silk pulling their lochs into mirroring ponytails. A couple of seats down and much farther from himself, Rowan Mucliber and Emory Rosier were doing something comedically similar, except the subject of their adoration was the brooms they intended to buy next break. Across from Tom were Leander and another nameless girl of his current game of affections, drawing intense glares from Edwin who sat on Tom's left. He could feel the jealousy roll off him in waves. 

All of it just seemed so, so- inconsequential when compared to the issues running rounds in Tom's mind, the reason why he'd taken to studying his fellows like he had in first year. But instead of distracting him as he had set out to do, the contrast had just heightened his want to understand Harry, Hadrian and whatever lay in-between.

He'd long since stopped going over his written facts and theories and begun using the diary as a prop to disguise his people watching, so he caught Edwin the instant he tried to sneak a look. One handed, he snapped the book closed. Leander snickered, apparently secretly spying on Edwin the whole time while also spouting 'romantic' nonsense to the girl beside him (What was her name? Leta? Louisa?). Edwin spat some average insult back in a scathing tone, something about 'getting around' and the girl was all but forgotten in the argument that followed. She promptly left with a huff. Good for her. 

Tom was about to follow suit when a first-year Slytherin approached him with a bland look that told no tales. Lilac Reed, a muggleborn like himself but learning quickly, also like himself. In her sun-bronzed hands, she clasped a nondescript piece of parchment with something written in slanting letters. She handed it over without a word and Tom nodded in turn, signalling for her to leave. 

"What's that?" Leander asked, craning his neck a little to steal a look despite ridiculing Edwin for the very same thing. When Tom subtly turned it down just enough for him to give up on his attempt, Leander settled back down and gave him an expectant look instead. Rightfully so, Edwin called him out on it. The squabbling resumed. 

He didn't feel particularly inclined to break up the fighting so Tom turned his attention to the parchment. In his characteristically fancy script, a pre-requisite for all professors it seemed, Headmaster Dippet had requested his presence. Panic tugged low at his stomach and Tom felt a little like throwing up what little of his sandwich he had eaten. 

When he arrived to see both Professor Dumbledore and the Headmaster in the office, that vague sense of nausea evolved into something a bit more tangible that had Tom's hands clammy with a light sheen of sweat. His face, however, remained mostly neutral with a touch of concern. Then he fully entered the room and saw a face that was becoming fairly acquainted with his subconscious during nights of little sleep. 

Hadrian-Harry Peverell was bound to a chair by invisible bonds that creased his shirt around the torso and wrists, wand nowhere in sight.

His familiarity must have won over his surprise and played out on his face because Dumbeldore's expression darkened a little. Meanwhile, Dippet appeared more concerned than anything else. 

"What's going on?" Tom inquired, his own false concern apparent in his tone. He had to forcibly tear his eyes from the glaring boy in the chair. 

"From what we understand, you and Peverell here had a small bit of an altercation. You wouldn't happen to be able to tell us anything about that, would you?" Dumbledore asked, expression back to neutral but his voice hinted at an accusation that Dippet missed completely.

"You're not in any trouble, if anything we're fairly certain you're the victim of this circumstance. Peverell will neither confirm nor deny, you see" The headmaster added, his sympathy a sharp contrast to Dumbeldore's borderline hostile tones.

The boy in question proved their point, silently fuming with his jaw clenched in such a way that had Tom guessing he was forcing himself to remain quiet. So many questions burned against the insides of Tom's lips, scathing the roof of his mouth. Here was Harry – no doubt about that, Hadrian would spill all – withholding answers like a man banishing Tom from the only oasis in a desert. He almost scowled. 

Although, there was a bright side to this. With Harry's refusal to speak, he had given Tom the rights to convey what exactly went down four days ago. Even if he spouted pure poppy-cock, would he speak out? And clearly, the teachers did not trust the boy, bound as he was. All the cards were in Tom's deck. He almost smiled. 

"Something odd did happen, but I wouldn't call it an altercation, sir, Hadrian was following me around when he went through his strange... short hair phase so I asked why, coincidentally when he'd returned to how he was before and he told me that it was because of something about someone called Harry, whom he insisted was not him, that really didn't like me" He spun the tale, plausible half-truths slipping from his mouth with a surprising but also very pleasing ease. Dippet hung onto his every word, eyes trained on him. Dumbledore held a similar focus, but he imagined that was due to a different reason. He was probably trying to suss out the false from the true in Tom's tale. Although there was no way he could know, not really. Tom was the sole witness. 

"Well, you got that right, I _really_ don't like you" Harry confirmed, grabbing Tom's attention from where it had wandered to focus on the adults in the room. So he did speak. But no more followed. Tom felt safe enough to give him an affronted look and carry on as if he hadn't spoken. The professors seemed content to do the same. 

"Do continue, Tom" Dumbledore ordered and Tom buried his thoughts on how exactly he felt about being ordered around by Dumbledore behind his mostly neutral, if not curious, expression. 

"Well, there isn't much else to say really but..." He turned his head towards Harry. "I'm sorry, you almost seem like an entirely different person, Hadrian, as impossible as that sounds" 

"Something like that" Harry said and his face did a weird thing where something smug clashed with a grimace. Odd. He hadn't seen anything like that before and Tom liked to make a point of studying how people acted. It certainly wasn't something he was going to mimic.

"Don't worry Tom, we've had similar difficulty in encouraging him to cooperate" Dippet said, addressing him with what he guessed was supposed to be a placating look before giving Harry something which could be described as long-suffering. It would seem these past four days had not been fruitful for the professors. 

"I don't mean to be rude but... what exactly is going on here?" Tom tilted his head a notch to the right and played up his 'innocent' curiosity once again. 

"Well, it is a rather delicate matter-" Dumbledore began but didn't get to finish what was surely going to be a dismissal before Dippet cut in. 

"Delicate indeed but, seeing as you've already come into contact with... Harry here, I think we ought to provide you with an explanation" Dippet gestured to the subject at hand. "We're afraid Hadrian Peverell may be inhabited by another being that goes by the name 'Harry'. The similarity is quite obvious there, as you have no doubt noticed, so we wonder if this is simply an aberration of Hadrian's conscience, or perhaps a parasite that has adopted the moniker with only Hadrian as a reference for the workings of our world... all of these are theories, of course," Of course indeed, Dippet was known for his theories. Often wild and varying in accuracy, though this concept made sense in Tom's mind. He'd have to look into magical parasites, yet another research item to add to the list before he made it around to deciphering a certain old journal... "It would explain why it has embodied the opposite of Hadrian's character, an alter ego if you will, hence why he seems to hate you"

"It's nothing like that at all" Harry spat venomously and Tom had a sudden vision of him in green-trimmed robes. Quite the opposite to the Hufflepuff yellow he was currently sporting. 

The conversation continued on, interruption ignored. "... That's-" _Interesting_ "-Worrying" Tom concluded. "... You don't reckon it's contagious, do you?"

"Oh no, we've had him here all this time and everyone who's encountered him has been quite fine, spell checked for safety of course" Dippet assured him. "We'll be calling in a specialist to return Hadrian to us"

"We don't have to ask you to refrain from spreading information on Hadrian's wellbeing, do we? It would be unfortunate if we were to cause unrest within the student body due to a dramatised rumour" Dumbledore hid a command under the guise of a question. He could see that the man was disgruntled in the way the features of his face had tightened, his lips pulling downwards slightly. Dippet loved to talk and his favourite topic tended to be whatever academic hypothetical had caught his fancy. If the Hadrian-Harry situation hadn't piqued the headmaster's interest as it had done, Tom doubted he would have been privy to so much information. 

"Of course sir"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1930's London Slang Use  
>  **Meshuggener** – crazy, a crazy person [Yid.]  
> [Definitions can be found here](http://www.georgeharley.com/slang)
> 
> It's mock fortnight, there's a fifteen-hour media exam following that, I'm working on a short film and my EPQ these upcoming weeks so I've no idea when the next chapter will be out, but there's a semi-decent chance I'll use it for stress relief/procrastination


	7. Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes resume as normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, I thought there was a much larger gap between this update and the last. 
> 
> As per the suggestion from one commenter, I will be exploring Hadrian as a character at some point along the line. But for now, here's just a little bit of the status quo. Or perhaps the breaking down of the status quo.

Completely bypassing all of Tom's expectations, Harry returned to classes the following day. And it was Harry, Tom could tell. One of his few branches of the as of yet under-developed parasite hypothesis was that it had inhabited a taller host before using Hadrian. It was clear in the way he almost fell over himself at least once every lesson. 

Twice, in defence, Tom observed from his own desk. Harry had gone back to partnering with the Treadman girl, although, one would think he'd make a pretty lousy partner due to his lack of a wand. That particular fact was rousing suspicion, if the four-day absence hadn't already, among those who noticed. Surely the Headmaster and Dumbledore would have to come clean, either that or produce some sort of cover story. 

Writing down the furthered importance of the disarming charm in advanced duelling as directed by Professor Merrythought, Tom idly wondered about the impact of the truth and how that would affect Harry's and then Hadrian's interactions with his peers. He went to write down his musings in his diary and gave a slight hum when he caught onto how he had begun referring to the parasite as of yesterday's meeting. "It" had replaced "he" on several occasions, albeit not with the most reliable consistency. 

_Would Harry be treated as though he were sub-human?_ he wrote and underlined, a contemplative crease drawing his brows together. _Like that of half breeds and sentient creatures?_

What even was the classification of a parasite? This one had sentience, although Dippet had inferred that its personality was more of an inverse reflection or a mesh of borrowed traits that had gotten twisted during transfer. Would that make the parasite a fake? Or is the fact that it exists at all enough for it to be classified as real? Certainly, it was real, it existed. But was it alive? After all, it was a magical parasite. Tom may be fond of the magic that ran through his blood but the sentience and debate on the potentially living status of magic was a topic that treaded far into the waters of subjective magical theories and held no supporting evidence as of this century...

He was so engrossed in his theoretical musings that he didn't notice the looming presence of the professor behind him. 

"Christ" He couldn't help himself from hissing the muggle blaspheme in a breath. He would flip the page but that would just seem all too suspicious. Regardless, he'd gone on such a tangent that the current page didn't even have anything pertaining to the Peverell case within the looping scrawls. 

"While I'll always encourage wider thinking and the expansion of a young wizard's mind past his schooling" Merrythought began, drifting to stand beside his desk rather than behind him. Fortunately, she was a soft-spoken woman by nature and hadn't seen any need in pulling up Tom as an example. Although, never let it be said that she wasn't strong. Something lay underneath her steady cadence that spoke of her authority without using any words. "I do believe that I asked for an inch more than what you currently have on your parchment"

With that instruction, she drifted back into her usual flow of checking over students, likely oblivious to the small meltdown Tom was having. Or maybe she was aware. He couldn't know. 

Somebody almost read his diary – no, they did read his diary. It just so happened that what they had read was mostly inconsequential. Mostly. Exploring the nature of identity in relation to magical parasites was an incredibly niche topic. No more niche than any other topic Tom may be inclined to pick up on whimsy but niche nonetheless. Plus, Merrythought wasn't aware of his little habit, she wouldn't know that he routinely ran through lists upon lists of miscellaneous subjects that held little to no relevance to the curriculum. 

He was hyperventilating. Tom, himself, was hyperventilating. Something which would have completely taken him by surprise if it wasn't for his previous encounters with the subject and purpose of his research. It was shameful, a bloody God send that no one had caught on.

... Except for Harry.

Harry had honed in on him at some point without Tom's notice, not staring exactly, but his eyes kept flitting between Treadman and Tom. For reasons he couldn't quite articulate yet, that realisation washed over him like a cold sheet. It didn't calm him but it gave him clarity. He caught those green eyes again and felt his mind split between two thoughts: _so much more chilling than Hadrian's own_ and _a bright, bright death_. 

He snapped his head back and placed a wavering quill to paper, sliding loops and curls for an inch and a half, tapping information from whatever compartment in his brain kept his knowledge on the disarming charm. He stopped himself before he began to recount a personal experience he'd had not too long ago. 

This was ridiculous. Harry didn't even have a wand. _It_ didn't even have a wand. Tom dared a glance back, daring himself or Harry – he wasn't sure, and found that its attention was more focused on Treadman. Tom couldn't fathom why she was so enthused in their discussion, there weren't that many elaborations one could make on the _expelliarmus_ but their conversation ran like oil between them.

_-_-_

"Bit odd, bit off, no?" Edwin said and Tom wasn't sure if he was speaking to or about his mash potato. 

"You're a bit of both, I think" Leander had found himself a third interpretation. For God's sake, couldn't Tom have a single meal in peace? 

"No! Am not! I mean Peverell you idiot" Oh, there was a fourth. Edwin had clearly been mulling over the wandless student for a while, it wasn't often he came up with a non-sequitur. Tom honestly hadn't thought that the of the sort of deep thought that produced non-sequiturs was within Edwin's capabilities. Jes-Merlin give him strength. 

Perhaps Tom was being a bit harsh, channelling his tense mood in an unhealthy way. On the bright side, those who didn't think too deeply were quite easy to... persuade.

"Oh yes, if you were looking for someone to contend with you and your abnormalities, you've picked a good one" Leander continued, but there was something decidedly quite a bit meaner about his tone than usual. Tom gave him a questioning inclination of the head. Leander shrugged. 

"Hey! I'll have you know that I know big words too" Edwin proclaimed. "And you're being an insufferable imbecile" He added with a smug look as if to back up his argument. Tom's eyebrows rose, that was much harsher than what had been running in his head just before. 

His surprise increased twofold when their petty squabble didn't a remain petty squabble as it normally would and instead Leander launched himself across the table, taking a fistful of Edwin's collar to meet him halfway. 

Before anything interesting could happen, Head Girl Elizabeth Carrow flung the two of them back into their seats with an impressive display of wordless magic. Abraxas quickly followed up on his fellow head of year's work and began speaking in a very low, very menacing voice just above the level of a whisper. 

"If I see such a barbaric display again, you can expect much more than a little heavy-handed magic. We have a reputation to uphold and a distance to upkeep between ourselves and the likes of those oafs that inhabit our rival houses" _Gryffindor_ could be read between the lines. "Not only that, but we're on track to winning the house cup again this year, which will give us a three-year streak and I won't allow my final year, the year in which _I_ am in charge, to be tarnished because I have to take away points from _my own_ house"

With one final sneer, Abraxas returned to his seat some ways down the table, very visibly muttering to a nodding Elizabeth Carrow. Tom felt air rush from his lungs. He'd forgotten to breathe. 

Leander and Edwin looked to be in a much worse state, Leander's gaze steadfastly glued to his empty dinner plate and Edwin's eyes darting everywhere but at his fellow classmate's faces. Both were pale enough to rival the Bloody Barron's complexion, or lack thereof.

Tom needed that. Needed that ability to incite fear with his words, drip venom from his tone and lace threats in his stillness. 

He already knew that power could be harvested in fear but had so far only cultivated loyalty through his false kindness. There was a balance in there somewhere, and he was determined to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First A Level exam is in 20 days, by all rights of common sense and priority, I should not be updating this fic any time soon. But we shall see. 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/colespots), if yah wanna get in touch n ask any questions. Although comments do make my day and I at least try to answer all of them!

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a small piece that I'm writing in my downtime for the sake of enjoyment. Unlike my other works like ["Tether"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663183/chapters/39072280), it is not meticulously planned out. There is a basic idea and a few principles. It is an indulgence piece and an experiment into writing something that should evolve into romance as I have yet to write something more than gen. Any foreshadowing is accidental and the characters and the concepts surrounding those ideas are borrowed from a future fic I have planned. I usually like to weave in little nuances, motifs and the like but this is just a splurge of writing that abides by no rules. It could go anywhere.
> 
> [Tether](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663183/chapters/39072280), [ Personal Promises ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441776/chapters/30808224) and [ Invisible Person Syndrome ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498232/chapters/28454348)are still the priority. 
> 
> Updates regarding any fics etc. can be found on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/colespots).


End file.
